A Mother's Presence

During the Civil War of America a young man received a wound which proved fatal. In the hospital he called so constantly in his delirium for his mother that the surgeon dispatched a message for her; and she arrived as soon as trains could bring her. The surgeon informed her of her son’s condition, hovering between life and death, and assured her that the excitement consequent upon his recognizing her presence would take away any hope of his recovery that might remain. So, according to strict orders, she sat for two hours outside the door of the ward, having the couch on which her son tossed to and fro in her direct line of vision.

At length she said to the surgeon as he passed: “I shall die if I remain here any longer. May I not go and take the place of the nurse, only doing what she does in the way of smoothing his pillow and wetting his lips, and I promise you I shall do nothing to disclose to him who I am?” On those conditions she was allowed to take the nurse’s place, and she faithfully discharged her professional duties in a strictly professional manner until her boy, turning his face to the wall, uttered a deep groan, when she involuntarily placed her hand on his brow; whereupon the suflerer cried: “Nurse, how like my mother’s hand!”